The Shadow Star
by Pelahnar
Summary: Satine isn't sick, so when Harold is trying to convince her to stay, he doesn't have that as an argument...full summary inside. Rated T for semi-mild language.
1. Prologue The Plan

**The Shadow Star**

**Summary: Satine leaves with Christian, but they are worried about what the Duke will do to the Moulin Rouge after they're gone. Satine becomes 'The Shadow Star', a nameless singer at various locations around Europe. The Duke, along with a group of young men called the Star's Searchers, try to follow her without success. Then a motherly innkeeper actually does. Please read and review despite the terrible summary!**

**Disclaimer: Ahem. May I have your attention please? **

***stands at podium and shuffles papers* **

**This story is based off the Moulin Rouge, which I do not own. **

***shuffles more papers* **

**It was inspired by elements of Bloody Jack and Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist neither of which I own and knowledge of which you do not need to understand this story. **

***shuffles papers again* **

**There are some OC's which I do own – although they're probably subconsciously based on characters from random books that I don't own. Thank you. **

***sits down after acknowledging enthusiastic applause***

Prologue: The Plan

"Unless you do his ending and sleep with him tomorrow night, the Duke will have Christian killed." Satine gasped, then quickly brushed away the tears that had threatened to fall from her eyes. She was leaving anyway, with Christian, so why should this startling revelation upset her?

She turned back to Harold. "He can't scare us." She said flatly, though it wasn't true – she was thoroughly frightened, but she'd never let him know that.

"He's a powerful man – you know he can do it." She pulled off the robe and threw it to the ground angrily, not wanting to believe him. "What are you doing?"

"I don't need you anymore!" she yelled. "All my life you've made me believe I was only worth what someone would _pay_ for me! But Christian loves me. He loves me, Harold. He _loves _me! And that is worth everything. We're going away from you, away from the Duke, away from the Moulin Rouge! Goodbye, Harold." She settled Christian's coat around her shoulders, wishing her last words could've been said less coldly. But she couldn't take them back now, nor could she bring herself to say anything else. She turned, and walked out the door.

Five minutes later, she was back in Christian's arms, now unable to stop the tears from streaming down her face as she told him about the Duke's threat of murder. As she'd expected, he wasn't unduly worried. "It's okay, Satine." He whispered, hugging her tightly. "We can go where he can't find us. It will be all right."

Satine smiled as he wiped away her tears for the second time that night and nodded. "I – I know, I just – I needed to hear you say it." She paused, then said. "I've been thinking though – if we disappear, what will happen here? The Duke still holds the deeds to the Moulin Rouge. He can and will do anything he wants to here. What about the Diamond Dogs and the Bohemians? Toulouse and Nini and Mome Fromage? The girls are like sisters to me, Christian, I can't let them be turned onto the streets or – or –" She couldn't bring herself to consider anything worse.

Christian nodded. "You're right, but is there anything we can do about it?"

"Yes," Satine said slowly. "We can keep his attention on us." Her eyes were suddenly shining with mischief. "As long as he thinks there's a chance of catching us, then he won't do anything here – at least, I hope he won't."

"How?"

Satine just smiled and said. "I have a plan."

* * *

Mistress Thresher – innkeeper of the Blue Jewel – sighed at the girl in front of her. "Look dearie, if you want to perform here, you've got to give me a name."

"I don't have a name."

"Don't be silly. Everyone's got a name – what's yours?" Mistress Thresher asked impatiently. This girl was wasting her time.

The girl shook her head forcefully. "I haven't one. I promise you, your business will never have been better if I sing here." Mistress Thresher looked the nameless girl up and down. She was pretty enough, perhaps even beautiful. Long, shiny red hair – that alone could bring in customers. Her accent placed her in a high class, but her dress was rather plain and it was clear from the dirt that streaked it that she'd been sleeping on the ground. "If you don't let me sing here, I can always go somewhere else – somewhere that they don't care about names – and they can get the extra business."

Somewhere else – a brothel, probably. Where else wouldn't care about names? Mistress Thresher didn't particularly like brothels and didn't want this girl to end up in one. "All right, you can sing here. How much I'll pay you depends on how many customers you bring in."

"_Merci_, Madam." So the girl was French, or had at least spent time in France. She gave Mistress Thresher a dazzling smile and curtsied. "I should change, shouldn't I?" Without waiting for an answer, she dashed away. Hopefully whatever she changed into was cleaner than what she'd been wearing.

A few hours later, Mistress Thresher no longer cared that the girl didn't have a name or what she was wearing (a red, silken evening gown). She could sing like an angel. Within fifteen minutes of the beginning of her performance, the common room of the Blue Jewel was completely full. Now her show was over, and girl curtsied once more, shook her head as the crowd demanded an encore, and made her way over to Mistress Thresher.

"Well, Madam Thresher?" she asked sweetly.

"Dearie –" Mistress Thresher began, somewhat flustered. "Would you like a job singing here?"

Something flickered in the girl's eyes. Was it sadness? Surprise? Excitement? Mistress Thresher couldn't decide which. Perhaps it was all three. It was gone as quickly as it had come. "No, thank you, Madam. I must . . . continue my travels. However, if you would . . ."

"Oh, the money. Of course." Mistress Thresher paid her much more than she had planned to at the beginning of the evening. Still, she believed the girl deserved it. As the girl turned to leave, Mistress Thresher called after her. "I hope you know that you have talent, dearie. Much more talent than most of us could ever dream of. Please, don't waste it." Not in a brothel, she added silently to herself.

The girl smiled the same dazzling smile she'd given before. "I know. I won't waste it, I promise." Then she was gone.

One of the many customers that had come to hear her called Mistress Thresher over. "Who was that? What was her name? And when will she be singing here again?"

Mistress Thresher shook her head sadly. "I don't know her name – she said she didn't have one. She's left – and I think she's gone for good." She sighed sadly, then smiled. "Well, I think from now on I will tell people that if ever a nameless, redheaded girl asks them to let her sing somewhere that they should not only accept, but beg her to do so!" He laughed, then bid her good night and left.

* * *

Christian bid the innkeeper good night and left the inn. A few minutes later, he caught up with Satine. "Well?" she asked, eyes shining.

He grinned. "This just might work."

**Please Review!**


	2. The Star's Searchers

**Thanks to Stanleylouis, my first (any so far only) reviewer!**

**Chapter 1: The Star's Searchers**

It had been about a week since the mysterious girl had come and gone. Mistress Thresher's inn had had quite a bit of publicity since her performance – though Mistress Thresher wasn't sure why, since she didn't give anyone the impression that the girl was coming back. She did, however, tell any strangers that came through about her and pressed that anyone who saw her should give her a job.

Everyone was interested, and rightfully so, but there was one man in particular that Mistress Thresher thought was _too_ interested.

"You said she had red hair?"

"Yes, sir."

"And she sang well?"

"Extremely well, sir."

"And only for that night?"

"Just a few hours, sir."

"And then she left?"

"That's right, sir."

"And there was no one with her?"

"No, sir."

"And you don't know where she went?"

"No idea, sir."

Mistress Thresher had been answering the same questions with the same answers for the past hour. She was getting tired of this man – whether or not he was actually the Duke he claimed to be. Finally she asked a question of her own. "Do you know her, sir?"

"No, no, not at all, no." he answered quickly. Mistress Thresher sighed and politely excused herself to tend to other customers. As always, she listened to gossip (and added to it) as she did so and was very interested when she heard a small group of people whispering together excited.

"They call her 'the Shadow Star,'" said one.

Another nodded vigorously, saying, "She'll come, sing for a few hours, then vanish into the shadows without a trace. And she'll never give a name or address and no one seems to know who she is or where she comes from."

Someone else added, "I actually saw her a few days ago – she has the most vividly red hair imaginable! And her voice – it's unbelievable!"

Mistress Thresher retired to the kitchen to think about this conversation. Was it possible that 'the Shadow Star' was the very same mysterious girl? It certainly seemed like it. And however the Duke denied knowing her, it was obvious that he did. Or, at least, that he was looking for her. Whether or not he should find her and what would happen if he did, Mistress Thresher didn't know. And she didn't want to find out.

"Bertrand!" she called to her twenty-three-year-old son. "I think I'm going to take a vacation – you're in charge of the Jewel until I get back!"

She was going to look for this girl – this Shadow Star – herself.

* * *

For the first month and a half, Mistress Thresher had no luck whatsoever. While the Shadow Star's reputation preceded her wherever she went, no one was able to tell her where she was in between performances or where her next appearance would be. It was much like the gossips had said – after singing, she would vanish into the shadows, hence her name.

There were, she learned, plenty of other people – mostly young men – also looking for the Shadow Star. They called themselves the Star's Searchers. Most of the Star's Searchers had never actually seen her, so Mistress Thresher felt herself at an advantage, though not much of one.

She also learned beyond any doubt that the Duke was one of the Star's Searchers, even if he claimed not to know her and probably didn't use the term. She saw him nearly everywhere she went, in all the towns that the Shadow Star had been rumored to have performed in.

Mistress Thresher was on the point of giving up. She couldn't leave the Jewel to Bertrand forever. He had no head for buisness – if the Shadow Star hadn't increased the inn's popularity so much, she never would've left in the first place. She decided that if she didn't encounter her quarry in the next week, she'd have to go back.

During her travels, she contemplated the girl's reasons for staying anonymous. Publicity, perhaps. There was nothing that people liked better than a mystery, especially when coupled with talent like the Shadow Star's. But if that was the only reason, surely she would've come out of the shadows by now – she could hardly want for more attention. Other reasons, like that she was running from the law, crossed her mind and were immediately discarded. The girl wasn't a hardened criminal, of that she was certain. For some reason, her thoughts kept coming back to the Duke and his incessant questions. But why, if she was hiding from the Duke, was she leaving such a clear trail?

As more time past, Mistress Thresher realized that, a clear trail it may be, but in no way was it easy to find her with it.

Her alotted week was almost up when Mistress Thresher caught her first glimpse of the Shadow Star since she'd become famous, and realized at once why this girl had not yet been found or recognized by the Star's Searchers, the Duke, or anyone else. The Shadow Star's hair – forever being described as 'vividly red' – had been covered by a long black wig that fell almost to her waist and effectively disguised her against casual observers. She was also dressed in an extremely plain, gray dress that wouldn't attract attention – exactly the opposite of the bright red evening gown that Mistress Thresher had heard she wore at every performance.

She wished that she could say that she – instead of one of the numerous Star's Searchers – had found the girl by use of superior intellect or strategy. In fact, it had been luck. She had simply been eating dinner at an inn (it was nothing compared to the Jewel, of course), surreptitiously watching a couple flirt a few tables over. Reminiscing about young love, it took her a minute to realize that she knew them – both of them. The girl was none other than the Shadow Star herself . . . but the boy. How did she know the boy? After looking at him for a few more seconds she realized he was the young man who had asked about the Shadow Star when she'd performed at the Blue Jewel.

But if he hadn't known her then, and no one had found her since then how was he flirting with her now?

Mistress Thresher realized she was now openly staring at them. She looked down, pondering the question. Either he didn't know who he was flirting with or he had lied about no knowing her before. Before she could decide which option was more likely, the couple in question got up to leave, the Shadow Star still giggling uncontrollably.

Without stopping to think, Mistress Thresher stood up and followed them.

**Ok, that didn't take nearly as long to finish as I expected and I couldn't bare waiting to put it up. Estimated time for the next chapter: one month (reverse psychology, don't fail me now!). If it actually does take that long...well, let's hope it won't, but if it does, it probably means I'm working on my other Moulin Rouge story, If Only You Knew - if you simple _must_ read something else by me before this is updated, try that. It seems to be going well and more readers can only help it along. *wink wink nudge nudge***

**Enough advertising, now it's time for you to review!**


	3. Stalker

**Disclaimer: I don't own it! I never I did! Please don't sue me!**

**Thanks to reviewers: Stanleylouis and PartTimeVampire. You're awesome. **

Chapter 2: The (insert perfect word to summarize chapter here)

Mistress Thresher followed the Shadow Star and the young man until they came to a hotel where the Shadow Star kissed the man goodbye, whispered a few words, and shooed him into the building. Then she headed off in another direction – probably to perform somewhere, Mistress Thresher realized. She also realized that if she were simply to follow her there, she would miss her chance.

"Dearie!" she called, hurrying up to the Shadow Star. She turned and let out a small gasp, apparently recognizing her.

"Yes?" She asked hesitantly.

"What's your name?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't believe I know you." She said sweetly, all traces of recognition gone. This girl was a very good actress. She had disguised her voice, too – any trace of a French accent was gone, replaced with a purely middle-class English one.

After a slight pause during which she formulated what to say, Mistress Thresher replied. "No – but I know you. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you are the famous 'Shadow Star'."

The girl smiled condescendingly, and said. "Your wrong. I really must be going –" She turned to go, but froze at Mistress Thresher's next words.

"So, you wouldn't mid if I told the Duke that I met you, and thought you looked a lot like she did, when she sang at my inn?" she bluffed. Slowly, the girl turned back, eyes wide in panic and – fear? Maybe the Duke's intentions were worse than she'd thought. Then again, to force a girl into hiding in plain sight like this, they'd have to be.

"How do you know the Duke?" the Shadow Star asked, voice forcedly calm and panic concealed, if barely. "How did you find me?

"Perhaps," Mistress Thresher said slowly. "I will tell you if you answer some questions." The girl hesitated, so she added. "And, I won't tell him about you if you do."

Slowly, she nodded. "All right." They sat down on a nearby bench and Mistress Thresher began.

"What's your name?" she repeated her first question, but this time got an answer.

"Sara."

Mistress Thresher raised her eyebrows. She'd expected, without quite knowing why, that the Shadow Star's name would have to be something exotic and beautiful. Sara, while pretty enough, was so – _common_. It didn't fit her at all.

"Where do you come from?"

"France . . . well, London originally, but Paris is my home now."

"But you don't live there – you don't live anywhere. Why do you move around so much?"

Sara appraised her critically. "I'm beginning to think you don't know any more about the Duke than that he exists. And that he's looking for me. In which case, I think –" she stood up quickly.

Mistress Thresher followed suit. "You think?"

"I think I ought not tell my secrets to a stranger. Especially one that's been following me." Then with all the grace that the stories gave her and more, she vanished. Not literally – Mistress Thresher saw her dash smoothly into a dark alley, but then she was gone without a trace. The Shadow Star was aptly named.

Mistress Thresher went back to the hotel Sara's companion had gone into. While he might not know who she was, then again he might, and either way he was Mistress Thresher's last clue as to where the Shadow Star might go next.

The hotel had a common room, in which the young man she was looking for was sitting, staring into the fire. Mistress Thresher approached him. "Your date ran out on you?"

He looked up, startled. Unlike Sara, he didn't show any sign of recognizing her. "What?" he asked.

"The girl you ate dinner with – she's abandoned you?"

"Um . . . how do you know who I ate dinner with?"

"I saw you. I'm just curious."

"Right…" he said slowly, looking more than a little uncomfortable. "She lives in town – she had to go home."

Mistress Thresher nodded, but before she could form another question, she heard a voice behind her say. "You know, you're _really_ starting to freak me out." She turned to find Sara standing there, with her arms crossed and glaring at her angrily.

As Mistress Thresher tried to stutter a reply, Sara walked over to the man, who stood up. "Come on, darling." She said, taking his hand and shooting Mistress Thresher a cold look. "Let's go somewhere else."

As they left, Sara turned back to give her one last, disparaging glance. "Leave us alone." She mouthed silently.

Mistress Thresher stood in stunned silence for a few minutes. She was not used to being unable to find information – nor was she used to people finding her incessant questions strange. She was the town gossip back home and everyone knew it. Curiosity and the idea that the cost of getting information could not be too high had been taught to her since birth.

Was she wrong to try to discover the truth? If the Duke found them because of her, and something happened to them . . . Mistress Thresher wasn't sure she'd be able to forgive herself. Even after only meeting her twice in so many months, she felt strangely attached to this girl that had captured the hearts of so many with her voice.

She rented a room at the hotel and went to bed, trying to decide whether she should go on.

* * *

"Who was that?" asked Christian and Satine hurried away from the nosy woman.

"You didn't recognized her? She was the innkeeper of the Blue Jewel – the first inn I sang at." She sighed heavily. "She caught up with me after you left – she said she knows the Duke. But I don't think it was true. She might know about him, but . . ." she trailed off. "Do you think we should go back?"

Christian hesitated. If the innkeeper _did_ know the Duke and told him – told him what exactly? That she'd seen them here? "No." he said and kissed Satine's forehead. "Not unless you told her something important."

Satine smiled and shook her head.

**A/N: Sorry it's so short - I always make sure my chapters have at least 1000 words, but this one barely qualifies. Still, my reverse psycology wasn't working (it _has_ been almost a month since I last posted) and I thought I should post what I had. Sorry.**

**Review, yes?**


	4. The Hotel Grand Central

**Disclaimer: I own Mistress Thresher. And Bertrand (_why_ I named him Bertrand I'll never know - horrible name, in my opinion). I do not own Satine, Christian, the Moulin Rouge, the Duke, the Hotel Grand Central, or Sir John Blundell Maple.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed and/or put this story on Alert/Favorites! You are all amazing! And sorry for not updating in so long. Please don't kill me! *runs away to hide***

**Chapter 3: The Hotel Grand Central**

It was not right, Mistress Thresher decided, to try to discover the secrets of people who so obviously wanted – or needed – to keep them. She returned to the Blue Jewel instead of following the Shadow Star and her companion further, albeit reluctantly. Bertrand had nearly bankrupted the place in her absence, so she'd come back none too soon.

She did not forget them completely – that was not in her nature by any means. She continued to talk about her with customers and plotted her many performance locations on an old map, trying to find a pattern. Purely out of curiosity, of course. She was sure the smarter Star's Searchers were doing the same, and she hoped they were as disappointed with the results as she was.

"Mother, please…"

"No, Bertie, I've told you, it simply wouldn't work!" Mistress Thresher cried exasperatedly.

Bertrand was not to be discouraged. "I know you think I'm a business failure and maybe I am when it comes to running the Jewel, but that's because I've never _liked_ running the Jewel. I can't live here, uselessly washing dishes, for the rest of my life!"

"Don't be ridicules – washing dishes is a vital job!" His mother replied firmly. "Hon, _I _don't want you to be stuck in the kitchen forever either, but running a – a – a –"

"Performance hall." Bertrand supplied.

" – a performance hall would be pretty much exactly the same as running an inn." Mistress Thresher finished firmly. "I'm sorry, Bertie, but you just don't seem capable of handling that sort of business!" she sighed. Bertie wanted to transform the Blue Jewel into what he called a performance hall, where people – amateur musicians and singers – could come and pay to perform in front of an audience of more amateur musicians – who were paying to listen.

"You saw what happened when the Shadow Star came here – people were begging to hear her again!" Bertie argued. "And she's not the only one with that kind of talent, I'm sure of it. There are more people out there who could be famous – who _should_ be famous, but just don't have anywhere to start. They could start here! Mother, this could be huge!"

Mistress Thresher appraised her son thoughtfully. It was a good idea, and if he worked it properly then she couldn't help but feel that it _would_ be huge. But she also couldn't help remembering that he had managed to almost ruin them in less than two months.

"Are you prepared to do this on your own?" she asked suddenly.

"What, without you, you mean?" he seemed slightly panicky.

Mistress Thresher gave him a small smile. "You're almost twenty-four, Bertie. I think it's time you were able to work for yourself – and I have a friend in London. He owns a new hotel that's in need of a manager. He's offered me the job and I'm thinking of taking it. If you're really set on this performance hall, you could stay here and try it out. But I'm afraid the only thing you'll get from me is the Jewel itself. No money, no business plan. Are you ready for that?"

Bertrand gulped, but nodded grimly. "Yes. Definitely." He answered.

"All right then. I will go to London, and you will stay here and run your – performance hall."

It was more complicated than that, of course. Mistress Thresher could not just pack up and leave and Bertrand could not simply start a whole other business. But they did try to make the transition as smooth and quick as possible, so Mistress Thresher was able to start at her job in London within the month.

She looked up at the hotel critically – the building was majestic enough, but she simply wasn't impressed by the name. The Hotel Grand Central – because it was so near the station. Why not just call it The Hotel, if you were going to be that boring? She sighed heavily, shaking her head, and entered the building.

The inside was even more amazing than the outside, making Mistress Thresher even more disappointed with the dullness of the name. Nonetheless, she began her job as manager enthusiastically enough and soon found plenty to do. In what seemed like no time at all, it was time for the hotel to open.

"Mrs. Thresher!" It was a concierge whose name Mistress Thresher didn't know. "It's the Shadow Star, Mrs. Thresher – she's here!"

For a few moments, Mistress Thresher couldn't say anything. "Th – the Shadow Star?" she stammered. "She's _here_?"

"Yes, ma'am!" the concierge said excitedly. "She wants to sing here tonight!"

"Well…good, very good." She answered, still flustered. The concierge nodded and hurried away. Mistress Thresher fought the urge to laugh – she'd finally given up her search for the girl, and now she came straight to her.

Even as she thought this, the concierge returned, bringing Sara the Shadow Star with her. She looked just as she had when she sang at the Jewel, down to wearing the same red dress, but she seemed better off. More confident. This confidence vanished when she caught sight of Mistress Thresher.

"Oh!" she cried, not even trying to hide recognition. The concierge looked confused, but left to attend to something else without asking questions.

"Hello. Welcome to the Hotel Grand Central," Mistress Thresher said pleasantly. The last thing she wanted to do was scare her away.

"Thank you," Sara regained some composure. "I – I told you to stop following us – umm, me, I mean."

"I know. And I did. I am the manager here at the Hotel Grand Central. This is just a coincidence, I promise." Sara didn't look convinced. Mistress Thresher continued earnestly. "I didn't know you were going to be here – how could I? Please, don't mind me – I won't ask anymore questions. Besides, I'm looking forward to hearing you sing again."

Sara nodded slowly. "Well, then, I'll start in ten minutes? I have to get ready." She left again, leaving Mistress Thresher alone, with hundreds of unasked questions on her lips. She knew she couldn't ask them now – she'd promised not too – but this was almost unbearable.

Mistress Thresher went into the foyer, where there were already a lot of people gathering. It was the grand opening of the hotel that was rumored to be one of the most luxurious in London – if not _the_ most luxurious – and everyone wanted to see it. She watched the crowd, appraising them carefully. There were many people she recognized as lords and ladies, wearing the most fashionable clothes and adorned with expensive jewelry. She smiled at her friend, the owner of the hotel, Sir John Blundell Maple. He didn't notice her, however, as he was talking forcefully to –

Sara's companion?

Mistress Thresher gasped and looked again. Yes, it was the young man that had been flirting with the Shadow Star the last time she'd seen them. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Why was Sir John talking to him?

That was when Sara entered and went to the front of the room. She said nothing, just stood there looking exactly like the description that was always given of the Shadow. Slowly the room noticed her and fell silent for a few surprised seconds – then they burst into cheers.

Sara smiled, waiting for them to calm down again. Then she began to sing. It had been much too long, Mistress Thresher thought, her breath taken away within the first few notes.

Several songs into the performance, Mistress Thresher was finally able to tear her eyes the 'the Shadow Star' and watch the crowd's reaction. Most, like her, were awed and amazed by the singer. Sara's companion was smiling at her. Sir John, however, seemed to be one of the few left unimpressed, but then she'd heard he didn't really like music.

She scanned the room again and found someone else who seemed unmoved by the performance. In fact, he watched Sara rather angrily and Mistress Thresher could imagine why.

It was the Duke.

**Note: The Hotel Grand Central is a real hotel, now called the Landmark London. It _was_ opened in 1899, and it _was _owned by a man name Sir John Blundell Maple - though I doubt it's manager was a woman. It is a five star hotel, though I really don't know whether or not it was/is considered one of the most luxurious hotels in London - all I know is that the pictures I saw of it were absolutely beautiful and that people like Taylor Swift stay there.**

**Please review! **


	5. Escape

**Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge**

**Recap: Satine and Christian have been traveling around Europe, with Satine anonymously singing at various places. She has earned the nickname 'The Shadow Star', because no one knows where she is in between performances. The former innkeeper Mistress Thresher is particularly interested in her situation. Satine is now singing at The Hotel Grand Central, where Mistress Thresher is manager - and the Duke has found her at last.**

**Chapter 4: Escape**

Christian was feeling uncomfortable at the Hotel Grand Central. It wasn't just because they knew it was dangerous for Satine to sing at such a fancy place, either – and during it's grand opening, no less! It was the building itself; he'd gotten so used the the more common inns and pubs that Satine usually sang at, that this hotel's sheer grandeur by comparison to them was overwhelming.

It wasn't as though he'd never been anywhere like it before, however. Before going to the Moulin – before meeting Satine – he'd never been to anything less. His father had insisted on that, which had only made Christian curious. Forbidden things had always made him curious – why else would he go to Montmartre, the very place he'd been told never to go?

Interesting. He hadn't thought about his life before the Moulin Rouge for months. It must be the Hotel that was bringing up the memories, he decided. That was all.

"Christian?"

Alarmed, Christian turned quickly. "Father? What – what are you doing here?" He cried.

"I could ask you the same thing." His father, Sir John Blundell Maple, said coldly. "As it happens, _I_ am here, because I own this hotel. Why are you?" Christian opened his mouth to answer, frantically trying to come up with a valid excuse. Sir John didn't seem to actually want a response, however. He continued, sitting down next to Christian. "I don't suppose you've given up on _love, _have you?"

"No! I -"

"I thought not. You never did have the sense for that!"

Christian pursed his lips and shook his head. He couldn't say that he'd fallen in love, that it had been everything he'd dreamed of and more. That would require an explanation, one that he was not able to give. "Should I not have come back then?" He answered harshly. "Would you rather I leave forever?"

"I would rather you - " Realizing that he was nearly shouting, Sir John dropped his voice to an intense whisper. "I would _rather_ you grow up and forget your_ ridiculous_ dreams."

Christian realized that silence had fallen in the room. Looking up, he immediately knew why. Satine was on stage, ready to sing. He smiled at her, unable to help it. As she scanned the crowd, her eyes lingered on him for only a moment – they couldn't afford to have anyone know they were together.

Glancing at his father, Christian saw Sir John glaring at Satine as she began singing. To look at him, you would've thought she was interrupting the most important conversation of his life.

A few songs into the performance, Sir John apparently decided that even 'The Shadow Star' was not going to stop him from finishing his tirade about 'responsibility' and 'respect'. "It simply isn't the way – Christian!" Sir John whispered fiercely. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Irritated, Christian obeyed, if only because he was worried his father would start shouting –Shadow Star or no – and ruin Satine's grandest performance.

He only barely listened to the speech that he knew by heart anyway, but only looked up when Satine stopped singing, As he watched Satine start to leave in one direction and immediately turn around and go the other way, he stopped listening entirely. "What is she doing?" he muttered, confused.

"Don't interrupt me!" Sir John ordered. "What is _who_ doing?"

"Sa – ah … The Shadow Star." He motioned to the front of the room, where Satine was just disappearing from view. "Her performances are usually longer than that."

"Why does it matter? As I was saying - "

"I know what you were saying, and I don't care." He stood up. "I can't live by your rules, Father, I've told you that before. I'm leaving, and this time, I'm not coming back." Well, he'd never meant to come back the first time, and this encounter was accidental anyway, but he didn't bother to explain that. "And by the way, I did fall in love."

Ignoring his father's protests, Christian left in search of Satine.

* * *

Satine had seen the Duke arrive during her third song. It was only the fact that she was performing that stopped her from gasping out loud. It had been a bad idea to sing at the Hotel Grand Central on its grand opening, of all nights. She'd known that, of course, but couldn't resist the chance to sing in place like this...

Satine forced herself back to the problem at hand. She pulled her eyes away from the Duke – not hard, he was as ugly as ever – and searched instead for Christian. They had a contingency plan, in case this happened.

She found him, near the back of the room, but he wasn't looking at her. Instead, he was watching a man in a suit that Satine didn't know. She stopped herself from grimacing, which would've looked rather strange to the audience. Why did he have to choose _now_ to look somewhere else?

_Love, look at me!_ She thought hard in his direction. Evidently, he did not receive the message.

She forced herself to stay calm. The Duke wouldn't try anything during the performance. Surely he wouldn't. Satine glanced back at the Duke – having been staring at Christian, hoping he would look up again – and their eyes met across the room. She did not take a step backwards, but she was sorely tempted to.

She was safe as long as she was still singing – she had nearly convinced herself of this anyway, though who knew what the Duke was capable of? But she couldn't sing forever. And what if the Duke saw Christian? They weren't very far apart, though so far the Duke didn't seem to have seen anything but her. And, the longer she performed, the more time he had to set a trap for her when she left. Perhaps it was already too late.

The song came to an end. Satine was silent for a few seconds, deliberating. If she sang another, it was nearly guaranteed that a trap would be waiting for her when she left. If she left now, the people in the audience would likely find her short performance strange – though that could be good, as Christian would too. And if the trap was already set...

Satine smiled to the crowd, hoping none of these thoughts were reflected on her face. Then she curtsied smoothly and turned to go.

Then she stopped, stifling another gasp. There, blocking the door she'd been planning on exiting by, was Warner – the Duke's manservant. Trying not to act as though anything were wrong, she turned around and walked the other direction. There would probably be someone there too – though she couldn't see anyone – but anyone was better than Warner. Well, anyone other than the Duke himself, who was still watching her from the back of the room.

As Satine left the room, she didn't wait to see if there was someone here as well – she began running as soon as she was out of the audience's sight.

"Stop her!" She heard someone call. "Don't let her get away!"

Someone grabbed her arm, but she pulled free. "No, don't -!" The voice cried again, but Satine didn't hear anymore. Within seconds, she was out of the hotel and losing her pursuers amongst the winding streets of London.

But she didn't stop running. She couldn't seem to make her feet slow. People stared at her as she past – why, they were wondering, would a grown woman in a dress that befitted a lady be running through the city at night? She didn't think about them though. She didn't think about anything, not even where she was going. And so, when she finally ran out of energy, she found herself completely lost in a part of London that she didn't recognize.

Satine sighed and closed her eyes, trying to remember something of the frantic run to her current location. Nothing. She started to turn around – then felt something hard hit her head and knew nothing more.

**A/N: I'm so dreadfully sorry. I had literally forgotten about this story. You can thank inspireXartistically for reminding me that it existed by reviewing. On that note - thank you to everyone who reviewed! You're all awesome! I hope you can forgive me for the long wait - it's been, what, more than 10 months since the last chapter? I'll try to do better!**

**Please review!**


	6. Kidnapped

**Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge. That is all you ever need know of me.**

**Chapter 5: Kidnapped**

When Satine regained consciousness, she felt very warm, covered in blankets and lying on a soft mattress. She smiled and kept her eyes closed. They must be back in the hotel room, the trouble at the Hotel Grand Central only a nightmare. She resolved not to sing there after all, however magnificent her dream had shown it to be. The dream would have to do – she would not risk meeting the Duke there for real.

Shivering at the thought, Satine reached for Christian, wanting comfort. And felt nothing. She opened her eyes and sat up quickly. Two things immediately became very clear – Christian was not lying beside her, and this was not their hotel room.

Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden as she reached the unavoidable conclusion: it had _not_ been a dream after all.

Impatiently wiping them away – crying would do no good, she told herself firmly – she pushed the blankets off and stood, examining the room she was in. There wasn't much to see. Aside from the bed, there was a washstand and mirror, and a table with a chair at it. The the door was locked from the outside, naturally, and so was the window. Satine supposed the Duke didn't want her running away again, now that he'd finally caught up with her. Her mouth tightened angrily, but her anger almost immediately became confusion.

Why had he locked her in this room, by herself? Why had she woken alone, rather than next to him? That's what she would've expected, given the chance to expect anything.

Shaking her head, Satine crossed the room to the window and pressed her forehead against the glass. Where was this room? The view from the window told her nothing but that she was on the second or third level of the building – possibly the fourth, if they made buildings that tall – and it was somewhere in the country. A manor, maybe. It seemed plausible that the Duke could have a manor in the English countryside.

She could also tell that she was facing east – even as she watched, the sky in front of her brightened as the sun rose. The sunrise was beautiful, she supposed, but was in no mood to enjoy it. Turning away, she sat back down on the bed, wondering if she should try to go back to sleep. Maybe she would dream of Christian – or maybe she would wake to find it really _had_ been a dream.

This time, she let the tears fall. She knew it wasn't a dream – it was real, horribly real. If she slept now, she would only wake up back here. Slowly, she gave into despair, and her thoughts became darker. She couldn't stop the Duke from taking what he wanted. She could not escape and had no hope of rescue. She would never see Christian again – perhaps he was already dead.

At the last, she could bear it no longer and began sobbing into her pillow. If that were true … if it turned out to be true, she vowed to break the window and jump out of it, no matter how high off the ground.

"Miss … Satine?" A voice called tentatively, a few minutes later. "Art tha' all right?"

Satine sat up and glared at the woman in the doorway. "Do I _look_ all right?" She hissed hoarsely. The woman – a chestnut-haired maid in her thirties – shook her head slowly. The door was open, behind her, Satine noticed. "Well, I'm not." Should she try to run? Would there be any point, trying to escape through a large, unknown house that was probably filled with servants? She decided there probably wasn't. Even if she got out, where was there to go?

"I'm very sorry to hear that." The maid said uncertainly. "I've brought tha' breakfast. Perhaps it will make tha' feel better." She added, hopefully lifting the tray that Satine hadn't noticed before.

"I'm not hungry." She turned away.

"Oh, but miss!" The maid hurriedly set the tray down on the table and sat next to Satine on the bed. "Tha' canna' just not eat – what will my master say?"

"I really don't care. Your master may, if he so wishes, die of shock that I have not touched the breakfast, and I won't care. In fact, I will rejoice if he does so." Satine said coldly.

Sighing, the woman laid a hand on her shoulder gently. "I don't know why he's brought tha' here, miss. But I can promise tha' that he doesn' mean tha' none harm. He's not a bad person – a little severe, sometimes, but not bad."

Satine did not try to hide the contempt in her voice. "Oh, really?" she asked quietly. "That has not been my experience."

* * *

Something had happened. Something had gone wrong. The Duke had found them – or else someone else, infatuated by the mysterious Shadow Star, had decided to kidnap her.

Christian paced the small hotel room that, for the past week, he had shared with Satine. But Satine wasn't there – she was gone. She had left the Hotel Grand Central after a much too short performance and turning around abruptly in the middle of the stage. For Satine, that was as good as panicking. Something had obviously gone wrong. And she had known it, even before it had happened.

He remembered their signal – if she looked at him for more than a few seconds at one time, it meant something was wrong. Except he hadn't been watching her, like he usually was – he'd been looking at his father, damn him! He wasn't sure sure whether he was damning himself or his father. Probably both.

They had covered their tracks too well. If the Duke had found them, it was probably by chance, but now? How was he to find Satine? Even if she had not been captured, only separated from him, how could he find her again? There was no one to ask. No one knew where the Shadow Star was at any given time – no one was supposed to know. No one was allowed to know.

If she had only run away and was still free, then his best chance was to stay here – this hotel room would be the first place she would look for him. If she had been kidnapped, however, he had to look for her, find her, save her.

But how? How could he know which to do - and how, how could he find her if she was? It seemed impossible on his own. But there was no one to ask for help.

His pacing slowed. Was that true? It wasn't really likely that anyone at the Hotel Grand Central would have seen her leave or know anything more about where she was than he did. But it was the last place she had sung, and it was the last place he knew she'd been. If there was anything that would tell him where she was now, it would be at that Hotel.

Without another thought, he left the room.

"Excuse me," He asked a concierge as he finally entered the Hotel Grand Central once more.

"Yes, sir?" he asked, bowing only slightly. Christian was not really dressed, he knew, to be in this sort of place.

"I was wondering whether ..." he paused. How was this question to be phrased? "Did the Shadow Star sing here last night?"

"I am not at liberty to say." Was the rather haughty answer.

Christian blinked. Most places were thrilled to have her sing there, and eager to tell anyone who asked – and even people who didn't ask – that she'd come. He wasn't at liberty to say? "All right … let's say that I know she was, because I was here last night too. Where might I find someone who talked to her before or after the performance?"

"You could try me." The concierge answered. "I showed her in. But I am not at liberty to discuss this." With that, he turned and walked away.

"You!" He spun around, still too shocked by the concierge to worry about someone recognizing hm, even if it was dangerous. "You're back."

The woman speaking looked vaguely familiar. Christian thought he'd seen her at least twice before. And evidently she recognized him as well. "You know me?" He asked uncertainly. Who was this woman?

"Oh yes, of course! Not by name, just by sight. You've been traveling with the Shadow Star, I believe. That is, I've seen you at the three places that I know she's been, so I put together the pieces. Who are you?"

Christian nodded slowly, trying to remember her. Mistress Thresher, he thought her name was. An innkeeper at the Blue Jewel – the first place Satine had sung at. She'd also followed them, for awhile, even talked to Satine again. Satine had said she knew the Duke. But right now, she appeared to be the only hope he had of ever finding his love again. He took a deep breath. "My name is Christian." he said. "I'm – looking for the Shadow Star."

"So are many others. Myself included, at one point." Thresher said, a little sharply. "They call themselves the Star's Searcher's, I believe. But I didn't think you were one of them – I was under the impression you, at least, knew where she was."

"I do. I did." He sighed, wondering whether he should trust her. "When she sang here last night … something went wrong. She disappeared."

Mistress Thresher nodded grimly. "I thought so." Apparently seeing his look of surprise she added. "I don't have to have seen her running out the door to know that she left to fast to change. I don't have to know how long her performances usually are, although I do, to know that this one was rather short. And I don't have to know who the Duke is or what he wants to know what he looks like and that he's been trying to find the Shadow Star. He was there last night too, or didn't you see him?"

"I didn't, no ..." Christian whispered, horrified. It was true, then – the Duke had finally caught up with them and kidnapped her. "I need to find her. As soon as possible." He said. It could already be too late.

"I'll help. That is, I'll try. I'm not entirely sure how much good I can do, but I'll try." Mistress Thresher told him. "But you'll need to tell me everything – who she is, where she came from. Why the Duke was looking for her. Everything."

**A/N: The maid in this chapter is supposed to be Yorkshire. Satine never remarks on it because I'm assuming she's met Yorkshire people before (I think this whole story is assuming she's been to England before, probably was even born there). Also, she might have been too depressed to notice. Anyway, I'm copying the Yorkshire way of speaking from The Secret Garden (which I don't own - well, I do, my copy of the book is right here, but I'm not the author of it) and I'm bad at writing in dialects, so if it's imperfect, that's why.**

**Please review!**


	7. Questions, Part 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge or any of the other stories that I steal - I mean use, use elements from in order to construct my stories. For this one, that includes: Bloody Jack, Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, The Secret Garden, and Les Miserables. If you want to know where any of these come in to play, feel free to ask me (however, some questions I won't answer, because it would give the story away).**

**Chapter 6: Who are you?**

Satine had moved the chair away from the table and was sitting, staring dejectedly out the window. Her view wasn't very interesting; she supposed it would be prettier in spring, when it was green, or even covered in snow, but at the moment, everything she could see was a dull gray. It matched her mood.

She wasn't really looking at the countryside, though. She was thinking – about the Moulin, about Christian, about her time as the Shadow Star. Even about the Duke. Anything to relieve the boredom. The maid, whose name was Susan, had returned twice more, carrying more food for dinner and supper – Satine had refused to touch any of it – but so far the Duke had not shown himself. And she had had nothing to do except sit and think all day.

The shadow of the manor was growing longer though, meaning the the sun was going down. As it did, Satine's anxiety increased. Surely he would come at night, if no other time? And if he did, what could she do about it? A tear single coursed silently down her cheek.

The door opened. Almost instinctively, Satine stood, whirled around, and gripped the back of the chair – which was conveniently between her and the door – all in one movement. Then she froze, finally laying eyes on her kidnapper. Her mouth opened in shock.

"Who the hell are you?" she cried.

The man said nothing, but raised his eyebrows. He was old, with a pure white beard and mustache, if little hair at all on his head. From his expression, Satine suddenly understood what Susan had meant about him being severe. What was most interesting was that, though she was sure she'd never seen him before, he did look vaguely familiar. "Well? Who are you? What do you want?" she asked again, holding her head high. Just because he wasn't the Duke didn't mean his intentions weren't the same.

"I might ask you the same thing, Miss Satine." He said quietly.

"It would seem you already know who I am." How? How could he possibly know her name? "As to what I want, I want to leave. Now answer my question!"

"I don't think I will." The man answered calmly. He almost sounded amused. Almost. "Not yet. Not until you give my the answers I'm searching for. Who are you?"

She hesitated. "You want to know who I am?" she asked. "I'm nobody. I'm the Shadow Star, but before that … before that, I worked the streets in Paris! I – I don't have any money, and I don't know anyone who does. If you're wanting a ransom, you can forget it right now – "

"I didn't ask how much money you have or where you're from. I asked who you are." The man broke in coldly.

"My name is Satine. I'm the Shadow Star." She answered in the same tone.

The man waved his hand impatiently. "Yes, yes, I know that." He sighed. "I can see we're going to be here for awhile. Take a seat." He motioned to her chair, seating himself on the bed. Slowly, Satine sat down. "So – Mam'selle Satine. The Shadow Star. The Sparkling Diamond. These are not identities, they are aliases. Who are you, really?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. My name is Satine. I can tell you how I got it, if you like, but it won't change the fact that it _is_ my name."

"Do tell."

Slightly taken aback – and no little disturbed by his intense stare – Satine said, "Well, when I was born, my mother thought my skin was as soft as satin. She decided to feminize the word 'satin' by adding an 'e'. She loved France, you see, and thought Satine would sound French."

"Hmm." He looked thoughtful. And doubtful. "The fact that you say you were a baby at the time means nothing. That scene could've taken place at any point in your life."

"You don't believe me?" The man shook his head. "Why?" she demanded angrily. "Why would I lie? You think I'm using some secret identity? Why should I? I -"

"That," he interrupted. "Is precisely the point. Why should you? Or rather, why have you?"

"Why have I _what_?"

"Why have you used a secret identity? You are the Shadow Star – you admit that to me, I assume because you realized I already knew. But who is the Shadow Star? No one knows. And why? Because you don't tell them. Why?"

Satine closed her mouth, which had been hanging open. "Why not?" She answered casually. When he glared at her, she sighed heavily. "Why do you even _care_?"

"I care because I know there has to be something going on here! Maybe no one else can see past a pretty face, but I can. And it made me wonder – why is she hiding? Someone so … talented," He put as much disdain into the word as possible; evidently, he was no more impressed with talent than beauty. "Someone so talented would do much better to reveal herself, surely. So why doesn't she?" He paused in his speech. "What are you hiding, Miss Satine?"

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Hmm. Well, you know the saying: If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear." With that, he stood up and walked to the door.

"Wait!" she cried. "Who are you? And what do you want with me? Monsieur, please - "

"Monsieur?" He sounded surprised. Half to himself, he added. "So you did live in France, at least." After a few seconds of thoughtful silence, he glanced at the table, which still held the last, untouched tray of food that Susan had brought. "You should eat something." He told her, sounding indifferent. "I'm sure you'll leave people brokenhearted if you die of starvation, especially with food right in front of you." He left the room.

As soon as the door closed again and she heard the lock click, Satine slowly stood and crossed to the table. Almost against her will, she picked up a piece of bread and began nibbling at it. That last remark had been so offhand. He had been referring to people missing the Shadow Star, of course. Of course he had. He could not _possibly_ know about Christian.

Nonetheless, Christian was who she thought of as she ate the bread and finally lay down on the bed. And as sleep took her, however slowly.

**A/N: So, this chapter was supposed to be about twice as long as it is. Unfortunately, the can of beans I opened tonight had other plans and communicated them quite clearly by slicing my thumb open. I can still type (as evidenced by this Author's Note) but not very well. However, I told The Celtic Queen I'd have a chapter up by Wednesday, so I thought I probably should post what I already had (and it's a day early!)**

**Any guesses as to who has kidnapped Satine, if not the Duke? It's obvious to me - but then, I had this planned pretty much all long. **

**Oh, and out of curiosity, has anyone read a Nini/Christian romance? And would you be interested in one if, say, someone like me were to write one?**

**Please review! There's really no reason not to, I've given you plenty of ideas for things to say (comments on the chapter, answers to the above question, sympathy for my thumb ... you know, things like that). :D**


	8. Questions, Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge. Or anything else. I hold no copyrights for anything.**

**Chapter 6: Questions, Part 2**

Mistress Thresher studied Sara's companion – Christian, he called himself – carefully as she led him to her office, where they could speak privately. He looked about the same age as her Bertie, maybe a few years younger. He also looked beside himself with worry about Sara.

"Now," Mistress Thresher said as they sat down. "I need you tell me everything about your situation."

"Everything?" Christian asked uncertainly.

"Everything." Mistress Thresher said firmly. Perhaps she didn't really need to know every detail about their situation. Perhaps not. The information _could_ be important though, and anyway, it wasn't likely she'd get another chance to ask all her questions. "Who is she?"

"She's … her name is Satine - " he began, but stopped as Mistress Thresher's eyes widened.

"Satine! I _knew_ her name couldn't be Sara." She felt rather triumphant, perhaps overly so, in having known this – or at least, wondered at the name the Shadow Star had told her. Unlike Sara, Satine was the perfect name for someone like the Shadow Star – unique and beautiful.

"Yes, Satine." Christian continued. He still sounded unsure about this. She understood why, too; Satine had gone to great lengths to ensure Mistress Thresher didn't learn their secrets – whatever the secrets might be – and Christian didn't want to tell either, but felt he had to, to have any chance of finding her. "Until a few months ago, she was working at a night club in Paris."

"Working..."

"She was a singer. And a courtesan," He added reluctantly. Mistress Thresher remembered when the girl had first arrived at the Blue Jewel, looking like she'd come off the streets. She remember that half the reason she'd let her sing at all was to keep her from going to a brothel instead. Now it turned out she'd come from one! Mistress Thresher wondered whether the disheveled appearance had been a ruse to attract pity – she didn't care if it was, she was still glad she given Satine the job, but she wondered nonetheless.

"That's where I met her," Christian went on. "The night club – the Moulin Rouge, it's called – it was in the process of becoming a theatre. They … hired me to write the play." His hesitation made her wonder whether there was more to it than that, but she decided not to ask. "Satine was the star – they called her the Sparkling Diamond. She was beautiful, she was … amazing. I fell in love. Even more amazing was that she fell back."

Mistress Thresher raised her eyebrows. "You fell in love with a courtesan? Not really a good idea there."

"That's what Satine said." He sighed. Then he became more determined. "But I don't regret it. I've never been happier than when I'm with her."

"Even when she was in hiding and on the move as the Shadow Star?"

"Of course. Why would it matter where we are, as long as we're together. And now she's gone and I … I feel lost without her. I have to get her back."

"Yes, yes," Mistress Thresher said hurriedly. "We will. What about the Duke then? Who is he?"

Christian grimaced. "The Duke." He spat out the title venomously. "He was the investor. He paid for the dance hall to be rebuilt as a theatre. In return he was promised 10% of the profits … and Satine."

"Satine?"

"She was a courtesan, remember."

"Oh. Right." Mistress Thresher saw that Christian did not like these memories. That was not surprising, considering the subject, but she did think that he might've expected something like this. Though he'd never actually said they hadn't expected it. Falling in love with a prostitute! She understood that it was hard to choose whether to fall in love with something, but this was ridiculous.

Still, if Satine had been driven to becoming the Shadow Star to avoid the Duke, it probably meant she had remained faithful to Christian. Not to be expected of a woman who sold herself, but a woman in love, perhaps …

"She wasn't meant to sleep with him until opening night, so we spent the summer together while the Duke suspected nothing. Then, at the final dress rehearsal, he suddenly figured it out – or was told." His expression darkened at that. "Anyway, he wanted her _that_ night, instead of the next. Satine was worried he might shut down the Moulin if she didn't go, so … she went." He stopped and swallowed. "Worst hour of my life."

"Hour?" Mistress Thresher didn't know much about brothels, but that didn't seem like a very long time.

"She didn't go through with it." Christian said. "The Duke – he got really angry and said that it was all my fault. That he was going to kill me."

Mistress Thresher gasped. _That_ she had not seen coming. Mostly because he seemed so much more concerned about Satine than anything else. Even now, he was only stating a fact, giving a reason for the Duke's vendetta – he didn't seem particularly distressed about it. "And he was serious? It wasn't just the anger talking, or jealousy - ?"

"He was dead serious."

"So you left – you ran away. And she's been singing as the Shadow Star since." Mistress Thresher completed the story. "Her idea, or yours?"

"Hers. I was more in favor of disappearing completely, but she thought that if we did that, the Duke might take revenge on the rest of the Moulin Rouge."

Mistress Thresher nodded. If this man was capable of murder just because a woman had refused to sleep with him, it was all too possible he was capable of anything. She realized that even now Satine may have been kidnapped by him – she tried not to think what that might mean. Instead, she spent a few minutes processing Christian's story, trying to see whether it really did help her any. "Right." she said finally. "I promise I'll do everything I can to find her again. Starting with asking around here, seeing if anyone knows anything about what happened after she left. I'll let you know if I learn anything."

Christian gave her his address and said he was going back there, on the chance that she had managed to escaped from the Duke and was waiting for him there. He didn't seem very hopeful of it though.

Mistress Thresher watched him leave thoughtfully. He had hardly told her everything, of course. She hadn't really expected he would. The details weren't really important anyway, just interesting. Their story had still answered more questions than it hadn't, which was always a good thing.

She remembered what she'd told Christian she was planning on doing. Surely one of her employee's had seen something. Just one was all she needed. If they hadn't, she wasn't sure what do next.

She set out to begin the interrogations.

**A/N: Short chapter, I know. But this chapter and the last were supposed to be one - and they will be. I'll merge them as soon as I've written the real chapter 7. Once I do so, chapter 6 will actually be the _longest_ chapter in this story (so far). **

**As my inquiry last chapter was completely ignored, I shall try again, more directly: If I wrote a Christian/Nini romance, would anyone be interested in reading it?**

**Please review!**


	9. Nothing

**Disclaimer: The Moulin Rouge is not mine. Never has been. Never will be. Ralph Waldo Emerson is a real person, so I guess...I don't own him either? I didn't make him up, anyway.**

**Chapter 8: Nothing**

"Nothing!" Mistress Thresher cried angrily when she arrived at the address Christian had given her earlier. "I don't think that's possible – there must have been fifty employees working last night and not a _single one_saw her leave? Someone is lying." She said darkly.

The anger was as much at herself as whoever was lying to her. As a former innkeeper and gossiper, she prided herself at being able to sift the truth from lies and rumors. And yet, though she was sure at least one of the people she'd questioned must have been concealing something, she had no idea who it could be.

Christian sighed, obviously disappointed. "Now what?"

Mistress Thresher paused. She'd hoped that something would be discovered during her questionings and had been optimistic enough that she hadn't thought any further than that. "If we assume that the Duke is the one who kidnapped her - "

"Well, who else could it be?" Christian interrupted. "You said he was there that night."

Slightly sternly, Mistress Thresher told him, "We don't really know anything right now except that she's missing. Yes, the fact that the Duke was there does point to him. But there are plenty of young men trying to find her – the Star's Searcher's, they call themselves. You know this?" He nodded. "Some of them are doing it just for the adventure, but we can't assume they're all honorable." Christian nodded again, more discouraged.

"However, if we assume it _was_the Duke, then that's something. Do you know his name?"

"I think Zidler mentioned it once, yes..." answered Christian slowly. Mistress Thresher waited impatiently as he tried to remember. And disapprovingly – if Christian's story was to be believed, he had spent a good part of the summer in close proximity to this Duke and only once heard his name? He'd been in love, yes, but that was no excuse for being so oblivious. "William … William Cavendish." He finished eventually.

"All right. In that case, we can try to find him." Mistress Thresher stood decisively. When Christian looked ready to follow her, she hesitated. "On second though, _I_can try to find him."

"What? No, I'm coming - "

Mistress Thresher cut him off sharply. "It won't do Satine any good if he kills you, whether she's with him or not."

Slowly, Christian nodded. "Are you sure you can find him?"

"Well, he _is_a Duke, by all accounts anyway. As long as you got the name right - William Cavendish, right? - I'm sure a few questions to the right people will get me an address." She said. "I'll see if she's really there and then, if she is, we can figure out a way to get her."

"We?"

She sighed. "Yes, we. Of course."

Scscscscscscscsc

Satine awoke the next morning when Susan arrived with her breakfast once more. The maid expressed her delight that at least some of the food she'd brought the night before had been eaten. "And how art tha' feeling this mornin'?" She asked cheerfully. Sometimes, Satine thought, people could be _too_cheerful.

She didn't answer, only ate the food in silence. Susan waited for her to finish, at the while trying to make conversation, chattering about nothing. When she finally left, Satine was relieved. It wasn't that she didn't like the woman – in other circumstances, she was nearly sure they'd have been friends – but she wanted to be alone.

Her desire for privacy didn't last long. Like the day before, she had absolutely nothing to do. Less than an hour since her breakfast, Satine found herself wishing that Susan would return. Just for something to break the silence.

Something to break the silence. Satine began to hum quietly, then opened her mouth and sang a single note. Her voice cracked halfway through and she coughed. She tried again, this time producing a clearer sound. "And there's no mountain too high," she sang softly. "No river too wide. Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side …"

Her voice broke as she tried to fight the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes. "I'm singing, Christian." She whispered. "Where are you?"

For the next few hours, she sang through every song Christian had written at the Moulin Rouge. When Susan finally returned, with lunch, she was back to Come What May. "Until my dying -" The door opened and Satine stopped.

"Oh, please don't quit on my account!" The maid said quickly. "Tha' has a very beautiful voice. Pretty song as well. For some reason, it sounds familiar. I canna think o' why though." Susan paused, looking puzzled for a for seconds, then she set the tray of food on the table. "I suppose tha's singin' to keep tha spirits up?"

"Not exactly."

"Why then?"

Satine hesitated, not wanting to say that she had the vague notion that singing Christian's songs would somehow call him to her. "I'm bored."

"Bored?" Susan asked, sounding surprised. Then she looked around the room. "Eh! There's not really much to do here, is there?"

"No, there isn't. I am bored out of my mind." She said, trying not to sound too sullen. "I've been kidnapped and locked in a room by a man I don't know, for a reason I can't fathom, for an indefinite amount of time – and he can't give me something to do with my time? Is this some form of torture? If so, it's working."

Susan looked taken aback. "Well, what would tha' like to do?"

"I don't know. I don't care. Sew, read – if you have a typewriter, I'm sure I could put it to some use." Perhaps not anything like what Christian could do, but nonetheless. "Something. Anything."

The maid nodded hesitantly. "I'll see what I can do." she said and left the room.

Satine didn't have very high hopes, so she went back to her singing as she stared out at the English countryside – watching out the window, perhaps trying to see whether Christian was really coming. However, not fifteen minutes later, Susan returned, this time carrying a pile of books.

"My master said there's no more reason to let you die of boredom than there is to die of hunger." She said, setting the books on the table. As she retreated once more, Satine barely had the presence of mind to thank her. She hurried to the table.

The books were on a variety of subjects – it appeared Susan had simply brought the first ones she could find. Philosophy, history, and even a book of poetry. "Ralph Waldo Emerson." She mused out loud, picking up the last. "Wasn't he American?" Interesting that her kidnapper - who was, as far as she could tell, upper class British - would have a book of poetry by an American. Or any book of poetry, for that matter. He didn't really seem like that type.

Absently, she flipped through the book; it fell open to a page where a folded piece of paper had been put. Curious, Satine unfolded it. And nearly dropped it as she read what was written there.

**A/N: ****I couldn't figure out whether Ralph Waldo Emerson's poetry was famous in England - or even whether he wrote books of poetry. I know he was a poet, and how else can poems be complied, unless it's in a book? But when I looked him up, all I could find was his books of essays. Oh, and I've somehow lost Secret Garden in the past two months, and Susan's accent has probably suffered for it.**

**Thanks to reviewers! Please continue to leave reviews!**


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